Crowsong
by the Red Nothing
Summary: 5 years after Meteor, Vincent Valentine has moved on with his life. But when he discovers a creature that was once a child in the basement of the Shinra Mansion, its ties to him Wait...what does Reno have to do with this?Chapter 5: Hello, friends.
1. Reaching

**Crowsong**

**by Akai Kuu**

_Hope climbs atop of the piano_

_Reaching out towards the warmth of the sun_

_Some man tries to ask her down_

_But now maybe that's where she belongs_

-Our Lady Peace, Hope

**Chapter 1**

Vincent Valentine appraised his old adversary, the mansion on the hill looming like Odin himself before him. In a sense, it looked little different than it had thirty-five years ago: the iron gates remained twisted, the large, soulless windows still leered at passerby like ravenous demons. It was only the bright construction equipment and the newspaper clipping wound around his prosthetic fingers that snapped the ex-Turk into reality.

_Why_ was he here?

He closed his eyes as he considered the question. Images of a comfortable home in Junon reached him, much like where his family had lived in better days. A decently-paying job that fulfilled his childhood dream. A brown-splotched mutt, wagging its tail as its master returned home each day. It had taken him the life of a murderer, a sleep of 30 years, a transformation into a monster in the literal sense, a soul-shattering revelation, and the end of the world to at long last bury the Hell within this mansion behind him. And all it had taken to summon him back was news of its immanent destruction.

He lifted his head and raised his golden arm in front of him, the limb mostly covered by the black sleeve of his turtleneck. Plucking the article out of it with his right hand, he unfolded it and scanned the headline again:

_**SHINRA MANSION SCHEDULED FOR DEMOLITION**_

A wry smirk crossed his features. Yes, here was the chance to lose all of his godless memories forever, allowing him to continue his new, sane life in peace. But there was a part of him that could not let go of the past; the past, after all, lingered in everyone, and made them what they were

It offered hope for the future.

A gust of biting November wind rushed in from the east, and Vincent pulled his coat more tightly about him as he shouldered through the gate. He was asking too much, and he knew it. The Shinra's treatments had already brought him so much closer to humanity: to distinguish between the extremes of the elements, to taste his food again, to lessen the control of the demons that shared his body with him. Reeve's team of scientists had worked wonders, and yet, there was one aspect of his humanity they could never hope to restore without very precise and detailed information, information that might be concealed in the depths of the old mansion.

"Excuse me? Sir?"

Vincent recognized the tone of stretched authority. With a slightly overdone sigh he looked to the speaker, a dark-haired woman in overalls and work gloves, looking as if she were barely out of college. She wore a bright yellow construction hat on her head, held a clipboard in her hand and an unlit cigarette between her lips. Pale hazel eyes regarded him with disdain from behind the plastic eye-shield for a moment before she rolled the cig slightly with her tongue, as if preparing to speak.

"I suppose I am trespassing on a government project?" The woman blinked. Well, that had been easy. She nodded apologetically as she adjusted her eyewear.

"I'm sorry sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the premises."

He nodded curtly and went the way he had come. Feeling ill-at-ease now that the mansion was at his back, he resisted the growing urge to cast a fearful glance over his right shoulder, lest he appear paranoid to the forewoman and her companions. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he made his way back out to the town, gaze downcast and watching his booted feet hitting the cobblestoned pavement rhythmically before him.

His brows creased in a frown, but only slightly. Denied entry; a minor inconvenience. He was fairly certain the site would be unguarded during the night, and even if security were posted, it would be of little consequence. He was certain he could infiltrate the manor with relative ease. After all, he thought with a more noticeable grimace, old habits died hard.

The realization then dawned on him that he now had the perfect opportunity to avoid entering the old nightmare house altogether. As soon as he considered it, however, he had already pushed the idea out of his mind. Ridiculous, he knew, but he could not pass up this chance... And yet, a part of him suspected that even if Hojo had kept all of his documents in the Shinra Headquarters, he still would have returned to the Mansion once more before it was destroyed. Hope dangles on a string above your head; the past latches its hook-like claws into your shoulder blades and drags you down.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose self-consciously. _My_ he was being morbid today. He shook his head and extended a gloved hand, palm-first, against a door; it swung open easily. He had really hoped he was past all of that brooding -and he was, mostly. Again, old habits died hard. Vincent had a decent life now, and rather than the ghost of Lucrecia anchoring his heart to the pit of his stomach, it gave him the courage to grasp life by its horns and triumph. The words he had shouted to her son at the center of the Planet, five years ago, rang in his ears:

_I was frozen in time... But now I feel as though my time is finally about to begin! _

A faint smile crossed his lips.

Vincent suddenly registered the overpowering odor of cigar smoke, and his ruby eyes widened as he took in his surroundings. The lighting was dim, and there was a sense of green in the faint luminescence that managed to prevail. At one end of the establishment, patrons sat hunched over a long wooden counter, once varnished perfectly, but now showcasing nicks, dents, and scratched obscenities from various drunken fiascoes. Away from the bar were various pool tables, and a very particular brand of patron huddled around them: nearly all men that looked somewhat formidable in one way or another, and the few women present did not have a great deal of clothing about their person. A big-screen television on the back wall streamed the current chocobo race live.

Some sort of invisible force pulled Vincent's gaze to a table in the far back corner, where two cloaked individuals sat, conversing in hushed tones. He stared right through them; he saw a young man with medium-length raven hair and chiseled forest eyes, a blue sleeve curled around a tall glass of alcohol.

The ex-Turk jarred the image out of his head as he approached the bar; the patrons, for some reason or another, parted like the Red Sea before him. Yes, he thought, old habits certainly died hard.

Cold. It was the first sensation the child registered when she awoke. Not pain, not malice. Just cold.

_  
Where... am I? _She opened her eyes, and instantly regretted it as they were assaulted by a stinging lime world of flowing funhouse-mirror distortion. Something was wrong: she was naked; she was floating; there were tubes in her nose.

Another thought surged into her mind, an electrically-charged panic:

_I can't breathe!!_

She gave a cry, her lungs filling with the foul-tasting liquid as she writhed, kicking and punching forward through the goo. Her hands and feet hit something solid. Glass. Her mind screamed more loudly - _She was going to die was goingtodie wasgonnadie!! _

A bright red flashed across her consciousness. Her gaze hardened, and she raised a hand. Staring at it through the liquid, she recalled a reflex from the back of her mind...

Pain shot through her hands, and tendrils of crimson danced through the florescent green of her prison. Yet, when she brought her hands again to the walls of the glass tomb, it shattered easily, the crippled cylinder vomiting up her naked body in a sea of green with shard-capped waves of broken glass.

A tiny body now lay in the center of a cold stone floor, rivers of blood trickling down from the jagged peaks of glass mountains embedded in her skin, sickly green clinging to the chalky white. Her sides rose and fell as she gasped for breath, her bloody hands twitching as she grasped for something that was not there.

And then, with obsidian hair dripping into her eyes, she stood, haphazardly. Something about her demeanor was no longer childish, yet the proper word for it was impossible to place.

Until a cold, rot-red eye snapped open, boring a hole into the plaque at the base of the mutilated cylinder.

Monster. The spirit of a monster.

Her vision was blurred, her breathing was raspy, and her will was iron as she read the inscription:

**SUBJECT LE-1 **

_LE..._

_L...E..._

_...L......E...._

_....Elli...._

Author's Notes: Yes, it was a short chapter; it was more of a teaser. This is an attempted rewrite of a rather poorly-written story of mine from several years ago. If I get this baby rolling, it'll run for about ten chapters, each more than likely substantially longer than this one. I'm hoping this is a somewhat-original concept for a story; if you're worried about some self-insertion OC x Vincent fanfic, don't, as Elli is roughly eleven, and that would be a bit creepy, even by fanfiction standards O.o; Besides, I already self-inserted myself -the construction worker is me in ten years XD Wewt!

Ahem yes. Any feedback is appreciated.

Akai


	2. Disturbed

**Crowsong**

**by Akai Kuu**

_My hand is shaking_

_The ring is gone_

_A voice is singing a children's song..._

-Crowhead, "Mad Man"

**Chapter 2**

Vincent created a wall around himself as he walked the floors of the ancient mansion. He did not allow himself to see or recognize anything; he was here for a purpose, and refused to acknowledge anything that might bring out an emotional response. He had been right -it had been simple to infiltrate the mansion at night; there was a single guard, a well-built gentleman with greying hair, posted at he main entrance to deter arsonists, and Vincent had simply opted for a back window, conveniently already smashed in. As automatic as his steps to his old haunt at the tavern had been, he approached the concealed stairway. He pressed the seventh tile from the right wall, thirteenth up from the floor. Without so much as a protest the secret entryway opened, revealing the rickety path to the basement below.

The rotting wooden planks groaned in protest as the man descended them, but Vincent paid the sound no heed. Instead, his keen ears caught the faint rumblings of something crashing about in the basement. He sighed; the Mansion supposedly had been cleaned of monsters years ago, out of concern for the villagers living near by. Still, the beast may not have been an oversight; it was hibernation season for many species of monster, and perhaps one was attempting to make its nest in the basement of the doomed building. Vincent checked his gun beneath his coat, and was satisfied.

He reached the bottom of the stairway, and an eyebrow shot up his forehead. The sharp scent of blood mixed with some sort of powerful base. Disgusting; it reeked of Hojo's experiments. Vincent grumbled -just his luck, of course. Some twisted, multi-tentacled brainchild from the reactor had somehow survived the purge and dragged itself here. The man's breathing quickened slightly; it was bad enough he felt the need to come here at all without looking one of Hojo's disgusting creations down its throat.

His boots kicked up dust as he walked past the coffin room without a glance. The sounds were growing louder. Vincent noticed that there was no light on in the laboratory. He'd had a full year of appointments with Professors Hojo and Muir (who eventually became the Professors Hojo and Hojo)down here, and he had always seen the bright glow of scientific equipment, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, even during the occasions on which he had to return to this basement with AVALANCHE, the room had been well-lit, the various baubles humming dutifully on. The Mansion had never been powered by mako -at least, the lab hadn't. He could still remember Lucrecia's musical laughter when he had singed his trousers, mistakingly having taken a seat on the generator.

Ouch!

He blinked. Had he been reminiscing, or had he actually heard a voice? He quickened his pace; as he crossed the threshold his nostrils were assailed by the distinct odor of _human _blood.

It was even darker in the lab than it had been in the tunnel; none of the slightly florescent lavender rocks lent their light here. The rummaging noises continued for a moment, then stopped abruptly. He sensed a presence forward and to his right, near a dripping noise and the overpowering stench of that mystery chemical. His eyes had not yet fully adjusted to the near-pitch blackness, but he stared at the spot, locking onto his potential adversary.

That's when the eyes opened. Large, wide eyes.

Large, wide, red eyes.

Large, wide, red, and _human _eyes.

A feeling of incredible dread rose from Vincent's stomach, or perhaps he had simply forgotten the taste of bile. The eyes reminded him of his own, in a sense: they hovered between red and brown, the sort of color of decomposing autumn leaves. Yet, they gave him the impression that they _should_ have been bright, and sparkling. So lacking, they were almost too blank for even a man like him to meet straight on.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the entity beat him to it:

"_Is it really you?_"

Hoarse. Feminine. Young. Definitely human. He could even make out a vaguely humanoid shape huddling in the corner around those eyes, trembling slightly. He forced the instinctive grip he had on his handgun to lesson. It was a little girl, he told himself, while his reasoning screamed otherwise. A little girl had gotten lost down here, somehow, and was now frightened out of her wits. She must be mistaking him for one of her playmates; there was no way she could possibly see him down here. Yet his true identity -that of a strange man- would only terrify her further. Vincent would have sighed, could he have afforded to with the intensity in the air; despite his reintegration into society, he had never been good with kids, and more than likely never _would _be good with kids. Awkwardly, the former assassin tried to make his words sound soothing.

"Young one, you must have me mistaken for someone else..." The eyes narrowed in response.

"_No, it's really you... I've been looking for you..._ " Looking for him? Vincent took a hesitant step forward, the sound of glass crunching beneath his feet the loudest the room had heard thus far.

"I'm sorry; you could not possibly know me. Let me--"

Everything happened too fast for him to recall the order: the sound of glass sliding, the weight on his upper body, the red-hot blazing of the rusty eyes, the searing pain of metal cutting through his shoulder in thin lines, or the piercing scream which accompanied it all:

"_MURDERER!!"_

Had he been a man of lesser training, he would have screamed in agony. A spindly form was clinging to him, digging what appeared to be claws into his body. His face twitched, and he choked slightly; of all the things he had not expected... So it _was _a monster after all? Some sort of humanoid wraith with the power of speech? But the emotion in her voice... _that _had been human. No monster could sound like that...

Suddenly, the being twisted its arm sharply, sending a new jolt of pain through the Junon resident. He gritted his teeth as he felt them begin to ache dully -always the first step of his transformation. _No! _His reflexes snapped; he ripped her away from him and threw her toward where he knew the wall to be, his thankfully-unwounded hand pulling out his gun.

_Shit_, he thought earnestly, although whether it was because he had harmed what could possibly be a innocent child or because of the silvery, blood-slicked claws that were once again surging toward him, he didn't have time to think about.

He brought up his left arm sharply, parrying her strike with gold, ignoring the pain the wound in his shoulder caused him when he did so. The girl sent her feet sailing toward his chest, sending him flying backward into a bookshelf.

He recovered quickly, scientific reports clattering to the floor as he pushed himself from the bookshelf and onto his feet. No, something was wrong. Whatever had attacked him had the strength of a grown man! What he was fighting couldn't _possibly _be human!

The feeling of dread returned ten-fold as he ignited a Fire spell before him, effectively blocking the creature's path and illuminating its -or rather her- features. She _was _a child -no older than twelve, by his estimates. She was entirely naked, the only things covering her abnormally lanky body were shards of glass and rivulets of blood peppered over her pale skin. Long, spindly arms hung at her side, perhaps not poised, but tensed; extending from a coppery bangle around each hand were four metal spikes, long and thin, a fair mockery of a monster's claws, judging by his own blood which dripped from them. She'd been saturated in some sort of liquid -he recognized it as the base he had smelled earlier- and it slicked her rather short black hair flat over one eye.

_Can't be human, can't be human, _Vincent's mind was screaming. _Or... not human... anymore. _Slowly, he lowered his aim to the floor, unwilling to risk firing at the monster-child. No, no one could _ever _be denied their humanity... He knew of only one man who held that most basic of truths in total disregard.

"Hojo," he'd intended to attempt at saying gently, but it came out as a rather horrified whisper. "Hojo did this to you, didn't he...?"

The girl's visible eye widened at this. Something childish returned for a moment, although it was hardly an improvement; instead of bare animal instincts, terror of a ravaged innocent splayed across her features.

She emitted a low growl, and sunk to her knees. She pulled her head beneath her arms, trembling slightly with her forehead nearly touching the floor. Her breathing became ragged... but thicker and gruffer with each breath.

"N...no..." She murmured. "_No,_" she growled. "_No, it was YOU who did this to me!_"

Vincent could only stare in disbelief as her skin bubbled up and coated over the copper plates. Her body was entering some godless metamorphosis: her hands grew, her legs were shifting in some indescribable way, a strange shape was spiring out of her back, her skin was hardening and cracking. Her ears elongated; one twisted into a corkscrew shape. He could see jagged steeples through her hair, rising up from her scalp. Slowly, she lifted her head to reveal a face contorted: her nose was flat, her cheeks had sunken in, and her eyes were a cold, narrowed white. The sick transformation appeared to be complete, although the now-fading light did not allow him to see the details; he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to.

The monster before him grimaced, revealing a set of spike-like ivory teeth. Then, with a terrific roar, it threw its weight at him, only to come crashing down upon its stomach.

He did not realize how hard he had been breathing until his breath caught in his throat. In the fresh darkness, all he could discern was labored breath, a low, perpetual snarl, and the occasional thump which did not journey from the spot in front of him. With slight apprehension, Vincent rekindled the flame, and forced himself to observe the creature on the laboratory floor: its arms were of a mismatched size, one still as large as a human child's, the other looking as if it could have belonged to a dragon, with a bizarre, half-formed set of claws at its end; a stubby tail flipped about wildly; the long, slender shape bursting out of its back made it look as if a four-foot sword had been plunged into it; its legs had fused into a useless stub, rendering it immobile. Still, it lay twitching and snarling, foaming at the mouth.

Vincent took a few cautious steps forward, closer to it; the monster swung sloppily at him with an over-sized paw, managing to nick his leg. He cursed gently and took several steps backward. From his natural vantage point of six feet above the ground, he was able to stare down and into its eyes: Milky, slanted, and pupilless, but anything but blank. They were filled with rage and fear, darting about the room wildly, and flooded by an overwhelming hatred. He readied his gun; the man knew what he had to do.

The disfigured experiment gnashed its teeth as it saw him near again, pain welling up into its eyes. It swiped, but this time Vincent was ready and easily sidestepped the attack.

"Sleep," he murmured, a green orb on his weapon flickering softly.

And so the monster did.

Author's Notes: Hurrah hurrah, here be chapter 2. Thanks to everyone who read; big thanks to hoheehum, my one and only reviewer :P (At least at the time I updated this chapter.) C'mon chicos y chicas, you know you wanna click that little blue button. grins Anyway, something about my Vincent -you may have noticed he's a bit... different. Less BROODINGLY ANGSTY. Well, judging by things he says toward the end of the game, I have a different vision of him than many fanfiction writers seem to. (And Squenix, according to Advent Children, but of course Advent Children doesn't exist in this universe--) He's trying to move on... _Trying_. More will be explained about that later. But, of course, he's not totally healed; it's not exactly Vincent if there isn't some _slight _angsting.

Ahem, anyway. Next chapter introduces another member of AVALANCHE. (Or two! And some former badguys, maybe? hint hint) Stay tuned..


	3. Removed

**Crowsong**

**by Akai Kuu**

_Hey you pale and sickly child_

_You're death and living reconciled_

_Been walking home a crooked mile_

-Depeche Mode, "Dream On"

**Chapter 3**

The little girl hummed merrily to herself as she crawled on her hands and knees throughout the calming white void, laying out twists and turns of miniature train track. Elli had always adored trains. She wasn't sure why -there were never any trains where she lived, and at Christmas time her parents were always hard-pressed to even find her a toy version.

But lately, she seemed to have no trouble finding little model trains to amuse herself with, and plenty of light to play by. She had just finished setting the last piece of track around the pleasant nothingness. With a smile, she connected the toy engine to the rest of the train, then flipped a switch on the track.

She smiled as the tiny pseudo-steam engine whirred to life, zooming through the dozens of yards of track assembled similarly to a roller coaster. She followed it with her eyes, the electronic hum of the mechanism humming along with her tune. But suddenly, she sensed a presence nearing her from behind, yet heard no footsteps. She froze.

"It is only I, child." Elli's shoulders slumped in relief. She lifted her head to see an abnormally thin and tall figure, for a man -but it wasn't. It was somewhere between ape and elf, with long pointed ears and eight feet of smokey blue fur covering all but its hands and face, said face featureless aside from a pair of gently glowing eyes. It was was also accented by two broad red lines, each ascending from its jawbone and curving upward across a cheek to join above where the nose should have been, continuing on in one line and disappearing beneath the fur that hung down from the top of the creature's head.

"Uncle Mezzy," she breathed softly. 'Uncle Mezzy' turned his long neck slightly, tilting his head at her. "You scared me. I couldn't hear you, and I thought you were--"

"Gozuki is not here," he said, and Elli got the impression of a smile. "I walk silently."

"Yeah, guess so," the girl grinned. "Hey Uncle Mezzy, you wanna play too?"

The entity pondered this briefly before lowering himself into a crouch next to the child, his monkey-like tail held curved and poised behind it.

The train completed another loop around the track; deftly, Elli snatched it up, grabbing the caboose quickly so that the whole thing did not derail. She detached the engine and turned it over in her hands. Her bright green eyes sparkled.

"You should play with me more," she said simply, and she sensed a chuckle.

"Apologies, my little one. It is difficult taking care of one such as yourself." Elli sighed and let her head droop, but a gentle hand with seven long and slender fingers tussled her hair lightly. "It is not your fault, child. You know that he must always be held back. I refuse to allow him to--"

"**_MEZUKI!!!_**" An aggravated thrum accompanied the guttural roar. The toy train sailed through the air, accompanied by a little girl's shriek. Mezuki sprang to his feet immediately as he turned to the quickly-darkening patch in the whiteness where the voice had come from.

"Elli!" Mezuki shouted, pulling the still-screaming girl to her feet roughly. _"**RUN!!**"_

Elli did not need to be asked twice. She could hear the shouts behind her: the song-like voice of her protector, rising in anger, and the harsh cries of the metal-winged, legless demon that took so much pleasure in tormenting her. She felt tears threatening to blur her vision; she wondered if this time, it would come to blows. It was never pretty when they fought... especially for her.

Already she was getting tired. She could see no one, but hear them clearly, still yelling and screaming and uttering oaths and curses. All around her, the once pure white void was turning a fast darkening grey. She stopped, suddenly, trying to catch her breath.

"Uncle Mezzy?" She whimpered, her eyes darting about wildly. She looked over her shoulder to see two disembodied bright yellow eyes, each larger than her, staring her right in the face. She tried to scream, but no sound would come.

"_Run!_"

With a shove from an invisible force, Elli surged forward before stumbling several feet and crashing into consciousness.

--------------------------------------------------

He opened his eye from its half-dozing squint when he heard the gasp. He watched impassively as she bolted upright, her hand immediately going to the grey stone on the back of the other. Ruby eyes widened as they took in their surroundings, the red orbs swiveling rapidly in their sockets. He watched as she took in her hand-weaved quilt, the sunset walls, the oak wardrobe, the large mural of the city painted next to the tarped door, and at last to the wicker couch on which he lay.

She started when she saw him, but did not panic, even when he lifted his head from between his paws and jumped gracefully to the floor. He opened his muzzle to speak, but she had cut him off before he could make a sound.

"Hello," she whispered, her eyes riveted on the flame at the end of his tail.

Nanaki blinked, surprised that she had addressed what might appear to be a monster. "Hello," he replied as he pawed closer. The girl gripped the ends of the sheets tightly in her fists and scooted into the headboard. He stopped, contemplating what should be said next. She was watching his every movement with calculating eyes.

"You must be frightened." No response beyond a suspicious glare. Whoever she was, she was prideful; Nanaki could smell her fear even as she denied it. "I mean you no harm."

She dropped her eyes, staring at her hands fisted in the blankets, turning and twisting them. The girl was chewing on her lip, and Nanaki knew that she was overwhelmed as well as indecisive. He considered furthering his introduction, but once again the child Vincent had brought him took the initiative.

"Why should I believe you?" she said coldly, fixing him with a piercing stare. Nanaki masked his surprise, as well as the strange, disturbing sensation that was creeping up his spine. Now he understood the wild look in his friend's eyes as he had handed the child to Mikko in the early morning rain, speaking in such a subdued voice to the guardian as his servant had carried the slumbering child into the inn. He had seen many children in his fifty-three years of life, and been one for the majority of them, but the girl reminded him more of a tired adult, just returned home from a harrowing war to find everything different.

"Come now," he said quietly, sitting down on his haunches. "If I had any intention of harming you, I would have done so already."

Her eyes traveled across the whole of his body, and then, with a sigh, she hugged her knees to her chest beneath the blankets. "That's what everybody said," she murmured darkly, muffled by her knees. He did not press her for a moment; he could sense she was not merely sulking, but deep in contemplation. She would twitch, occasionally, and her fingertips went to the grey stones set in the copper bands on each of her hands.

**He'll only hurt you, Elli. Do not trust him!**

_You can trust him, Elli..._

**Garbage! Why on the Planet should she trust some tattooed monster?!**

_He is not a monster; he is a Guardian of Cosmo Canyon!_

**He's lying, Elli!**

"Are you a Guardian?" She shouted suddenly, lifting her rump to sit on her hands. Nanaki inclined his head to her; for some reason, she seemed to ease slightly at the gesture.

"Yes," he replied, somewhat stunned, "I am Nanaki, Son of Seto. You are in Cosmo Canyon; a friend brought you here to me." She closed her eyes in relief; she could not remember the last time she felt she could trust somebody aside from her Uncle Mezzy. Apparently, now, there may be two somebodies: this Nanaki and whoever his friend was that had rescued her from the Turk.

"Who's your friend?" Nanaki's features darkened slightly, and he shook his head.

"It is not important; he often keeps to himself. Thus, I was surprised when he brought you to me." Again, Nanaki pawed toward his guest; this time, she did not back away, but merely continued to stare at him curiously. "Tell me, what do you call yourself?"

"Elli," she said quietly. Her eyes darted down and to her left, toward a tattoo on her upper arm that Nanaki had somehow missed before. **LE1**, it read. He swished his tail, something he often did to indicate he was thinking.

"Is that your name?" The reply was immediate and simple:

"No."

The Guardian's eyes softened at this, but his lip curled. Memory loss, more than likely. He had experienced it himself when Hojo had put him in suspended animation; apparently, Hojo had been fond of doing that to his subjects, being too lazy to properly care for them. The next question flew forth from his muzzle.

"How old are you, Elli?"

"I don't..." Nanaki sighed as she squeezed her eyes shut. Elli was still exhausted, he reasoned. Best not to press her for any more answers.

"Would you like to sleep some more, Elli?" A look of relief washed over the girl's features and she nodded. He instructed her to let him know if she needed anything and left her in peace.

There was no peace to be had for himself, however.

Nanaki resisted the urge to growl lowly as he descended the stone steps, not even noticing the concerned gaze of the innkeeper. Part of him hated humans for the lows they could sink to; the other part told him that not all humans were created equal. Still, he could not imagine a Deji, one of his own, committing such atrocities...

He recalled a conversation he'd had with Vincent, upon the man's delivery of the young girl called Elli. Nanaki had of course asked Valentine to explain everything that he knew; Vincent had told the tale of finding Elli in the basement of the Shinra Mansion when he went to find some documents pertaining to his prosthetic arm. He explained the battle in the quiet monotone Nanaki had last heard him use over four years ago.

"So, she is dangerous?" the Guardian had asked, already calculating the precautions to be taken. Vincent Valentine had pulled the collar of his jacket up to partially cover his face, shielding him from the rain.

"I do not believe so. She wishes no harm to anyone but me." With that, he had departed.

Nanaki sighed as he curled up on the cushions in his room. Since the Meteor incident, he and Vincent had become good friends. Perhaps it was what they held in common: both dignified beings sought to be warped by a mad man. But, in Nanaki's opinion, it was probably their mutual love of intelligent conversation; their appreciation for the finer, less carnal things in life; their similar senses of humor.

The Deji had watched his friend change over the past five years. He had gone with Vincent to the various healing procedures that Reeve had arranged in Midgar; they included surgeries and blood transfusions, and were often painful. It had pleased Nanaki to no end to see his companion changing -ever since Hojo's revelation in Midgar, Vincent had slowly been returning to what Nanaki imagined to be his "old self."

With the appearance of Elli, Vincent had already appeared to have taken several steps backward. If an outsider took the situation at face value, it would seem obvious why: something with suffering akin to Vincent's own had resurfaced, reminding him of the pass. But, although he could not claim to know all of the dark gentleman's deeper personal issues, he knew well enough that a reminder of Hojo would not cause him to dissolve back into self-loathing; he had forgiven himself for the incident. The only change in Vincent's personality that Nanaki could realistically imagine was a sudden surge of compassion. Perhaps anger, but certainly not directed at himself, unless Valentine was a much better actor than he had ever suspected.

The Guardian of Cosmo Canyon flicked his tail as he contemplated. Vincent, unfortunately, was not his priority. That would be a small girl who had more than likely been through more emotional Hell than any other on the Planet, living or dead. Then again, perhaps not -Nanaki was coming to believe that the potential sickness of the human mind was a bottomless pit.

-----------------------

He cradled his temples in his good hand, the sound of the small black watch on his right wrist screaming its ticks in the silent laboratory. With a metal claw, he flicked through the documents that carpeted the desk before him, each filled with miles of tiny black text that had nothing to do with the girl who so desperately hated him.

A slight frown was all that betrayed Vincent's potent distress. He was getting very few places at a rather rapid pace. He turned to a corner of the desk that was cleared, save for two papers that, at a glance, seemed identical to all of the others. Numbly, Vincent picked one up and began to read it, although by now he had the document memorized:

_January 16th, 324 Wutai Period: Subject showing less resistance; LE1 is beginning to accept me as a terror-god of sorts. Was consequently able to perform blood transfusion while LE1 was fully conscious, using only physical restraints. Transfusion a success; Subject's blood now fully 12 _draconis murame. _Immediate effect was the darkening of LE1's natural eye color from a green to a dark brown. I hypothesize as the "soul" is altered, further changes within the irises shall become noticeable._

_January 21st, 324 Wutai Period: I induced transformation today via chemical injection. Experiment a failure: Other artificial componants I have injected into LE1 have overpowered the blood of _draconis murame_, the only sign of which emerging was a malformed orange wing. Unusual amount of blood expelled from throat and anus of experiment; further transformations were induced, yielding the same results. Subject appeared to be within a tolerable level of distress; induced transformations repeated until LE1 reached a potentially dangerous blood loss level of 30. Furthermore..._

The paper offered no resistance as it was crushed in Vincent's right hand, his eyes blazing with fury. Images of himself in the fetal position on the laboratory floor, huddled in a pool of his own vomited blood burned into the back of his retinas. He remembered the feeling in his abdomen, as if all of his organs had caught fire and melted, and were bubbling up in a sizzling geyser of blood. He remembered that, despite his vigorous Turk training, he had wanted nothing more than to scream in agony, or weep, or both; but all that had come forth from his open mouth had been a pathetic choke and more warm blood.

And he would never forget the amused and cold voice that had sung down from above him:

"_In science, we call this a tolerable level of distress, Mister Valentine..._"

A golden claw raked four thin lines into the desktop. _And he had done it to a child. _Vincent had been in the way of Hojo's research; Vincent had been sleeping with Hojo's wife. Twisted reasons for turning one into a living monster, but _reasons_, nonetheless. There was _nothing_ a frail black-haired child could have done to Professor Tetsuya Hojo, and yet, in his quest for _research..._

Vincent forced the red mist down from before his eyes and slumped into the chair, mindlessly smoothing out the crumpled document. January of 324 Wutai Period. A little over a year before Vincent himself had arrived at the Mansion. She had been hidden in that basement the entire time...

Vincent had reason to believe it was because of him she was ever there at all.

_MURDERER!!_

How many times had he heard that scream? Murderer, murderer, _murderer_. His shoulders shook slightly; he had finally put the death of Lucrecia behind him, but he had not even managed to begin atoning for the countless deaths he had caused in the name of Shinra. Hojo's alterations hadn't turned her into a mindless slave to aggression. There was little doubt in his mind that, on one hit or another, he had annihilated the girl's family.

He tried to think of all of the assassinations he had done around '24 Wutai, but they ran together in a melting pot of screams. He had never reflected on all of the murders he had committed before now. Perhaps it was because he was an unfeeling monster; perhaps it was to keep him from going insane.

It was no use; all that the contemplation rewarded him with was an overwhelming tidal wave of self-loathing. He gritted his teeth, half-heartedly slamming his fist into the tabletop in frustration. If he could only remember that _face, _the _name_ that went with it... Maybe he could find the girl's living family, and attempt to begin his atonement.

Actually, he realized, he didn't care if he atoned. This time, it was not a matter of quieting the squall in his heart; he just wanted, in some feeble way, to offer some degree of comfort, to attempt to right a wrong in the world he had caused to an unsuspecting innocent. There would be no spiritual contemplation for himself this time, if he could possibly avoid it.

But, even in death, Hojo was making his life a nightmare. The documents pertaining to LE1 were stuffed within seemingly random books throughout the lab, and in the ones he had managed to locate, no reference to the subject's even being human were made, much less her birth name. Vincent growled; as much as he wanted to solve this by himself, he had to admit that he needed help.

Furthermore, he needed someone capable to help him. He knew from first-hand experience what the most capable group on the Planet was. Fortunately, in Reeve's new Shinra, they could help him.

_Turks. _

-------------------------------------

Author's Notseos: Rawr, hello everybody! I hope you enjoyed the longoass chapter.... well, uh, long for me. It was by far the hardest to write, as internalizations are always a bitch. And nooooow, responses to reviewers!

Kyesha: Thank you for the compliments Writing Vincent and not making him a _total _angstmuffin is very, very difficult, so thank you for your words

Ealinesse: Wow, I am bad at spelling your name. And although I could just TELL you this, as I have your happy little window open in MSN, thaaaaaaaaaank yoooooooou. Yes, there is only so much Vincent angst I can take. If he's half as cool as everyone makes him out to be, I would figure he has just a taaaaad of backbone, ne? And thanks for your compliments on Elli, too -I wasn't betting that anyone would LIKE her, yet o.o; And I liked the last sentence there too (as you know I had trouble with the last sentence here :P), and I'm glad you did as well. And thanks for the compliments on the fight scene; they're tricky to write, but I'm sure you know that :P

hoheehum: Yeeeesh, you makes me blush. I'm glad you think this story is worth "every word" -I like to think that it's improved from its original version, which I hope to God is not still out there on the internet. And no, that wasn't a shark's fin... see if you can figure out what it was. As for your split personality suspicious, well, the first scene in this chapter answers that, doesn't it? Long reviews don't scare me! By all means, go on for 30 pages OO; Ahem yes. And as for the Turks... guess who's showing up next?


	4. Sick

Author's Notes: Ahwee! Here come the Turkies! Anyway, just letting y'all know that these guys 'n dolls have a "naughty language" problem. Seriously. Reno, in particular, likes his vernacular to be as vibrant as his bloody hair. I tried to reason with them. Really I did. But you know, Turks will be Turks.

And remember! In Reeve's Soviet Shinra, the Turks help YOU!

**Crowsong**

**by Akai Kuu**

_Living makes me sick,_

_So sick I wish I'd die_

-The Smashing Pumpkins, "Jellybelly"

**Chapter 4**

_27..._

_28..._

_29..._

"Gurrr..."

A middle-aged woman with horn-rimmed black spectacles glanced nervously over her shoulder at her companion in the elevator, trying not to make it obvious that she wanted to stare. She was able to place the slumping, brown-haired woman as a member of the Company's investigation agency, although the give-away blue suit that usually fit like a glove on other members was at least two sizes too large for this one. Mrs. Cornstubble contemplated asking the other woman if she was quite all right, but seeing as her floor was coming right up, and the green tinge to the Turk's face was almost unnatural, the secretary decided it would behoove her, for once in her life, to keep her mouth shut, and hope that the obviously-ill agent did the same.

Had the secretary-in-question been more accustomed to running late, she would have recognized her elevator-mate to be none other than one Yuffie Kisaragi, heiress of the Kisaragi Dynasty of Wutai and, oddly enough, server of a five-year contract in the Investigation Department of Shinra, Inc. It had been all over the newspapers when the then-nineteen Kisaragi had announced her decision, and the subject of much gossip and speculation, which of course Mrs. Cornstubble had actively partaken in. Everything from an argument with her aging father to a secret lover within the Company had been relentlessly debated in the tabloids; the actual reason, of course, was far less interesting.

However, if Mrs. Cornstubble had both recognized and opted to ask Yuffie about her motives, the moaning young woman would not have been able to answer herself, on account of her breakfast doing a particularly violent line hustle within her gut -one that involved sharpened ski poles. Yuffie opened an eye hopefully at the familiar _ding _of the elevator doors, then groaned anew as she read off _31 _and saw the bony old hag scuttle out with a sniff.

Well, she was past the halfway point, anyway.

She didn't understand _why _Reeve had felt the burning desire to reconstruct the bloody Shinra building almost exactly as it had been before, complete with _seventy-freaking-stories._ Well wait, no; Yuffie could only wonder about things for so long before she actually got up and _asked_, and when she had, Marty (as she affectionately called him, mostly to piss him off) had babbled off some crap about "familiarity." So, Yuffie _still _didn't understand why the Shinra building had to be identical to its destroyed counterpart, because _why _anyone would _want _to be reminded of the old Shinra, Inc. was beyond her.

Well, she thought between lurches, at least it was mercifully quiet in the elevator this morning, as her usual lift companion was mysteriously absent. She blinked; he must be out sick today. He had finally stopped coming to work hours late when the head of the Investigation Department had earnestly threatened to fire him, and she knew the man far too well to believe he had actually been, Leviathan help us, _early_ today. Both she and her coworker had a habit of just barely getting by the "unfashionably late" mark, and consequently rode the elevator together every morning, Yuffie about ready to lose her proverbial lunch, and her "friend" laughing his ass off all the while.

_Ding._

She sighed in relief, squeezing out of the elevator before the doors were even halfway open, the health almost immediately returning to her cheeks. She walked briskly and purposefully toward the offices, and, once she had arrived, poked her head into the office allotted to her companion. Not that she thought he was actually there, but just vague curiosity, with the ever-present slight possibility of locating his mutilated corpse.

The sight which greeted her was not _quite _a corpse, but it came close enough. Reno Nevara was spread across his desk on his back, his black-stockinged feet crossed at the ankle, his dress shirt even more rumpled than usual (not to mention nearly halfway unbuttoned), and his overall appearance completed by tongues of untamed red hair exploding from his head. His blue suit-jacket was pulled over him as a makeshift blanket; several important-looking documents were crushed below him as unwilling cushions.

She slunk into the office on tip-toe, creeping around the front of Reno's desk to peer down into his face. Most people looked serene and innocent when they slept; Reno slept with a lip curled, looking as if at any moment he would twitch himself awake and tear into the nearest animate object with his teeth, not unlike a rotweiler on crack. She observed him for a few more moments before experimentally prodding him in the forehead, taking care to keep her fingers away from his mouth.

Cold Mako-blue eyes snapped open, burning with irritation. A few years ago, they would have frozen Yuffie to the carpet. She was used to him by now, however, and merely plastered an innocent grin upon her features.

"Heya sunshine," she chirped brightly. "Whatcha up ta?"

"I thought that was pretty obvious, kiddo," he grumbled, rolling over so that his back was to her. Undaunted, Yuffie rounded the desk and crouched down, peering into his face at such a close proximity that Reno could not possibly ignore her.

"What? Why so drowsy, Turkey-boy?" He groaned, but opened an eye. "Don't tell me there was another wild party at your place last night?"

"I didn't _go _to 'my place' last night, thankyouverymuch," he growled, pulling his coat up over his face and shutting his eyes firmly, praying to whatever entity happened to be in style these days that it would magically make Yuffie disappear. Unfortunately, religion had never been the older Turk's strong point, and Reno's Anti-Yuffie Screen was almost instantly yanked down, presenting him with the wide, hazel eyes of Wutai's most irritating ninja.

"What!" she fairly shouted, and rather close to his eardrum, too. Turks sometimes had to work a bit overtime, but all-nighters were almost unheard of these days, and even if Reno _had_ been asked to participate in one, Yuffie had a suspicion that the redhead would have told his supervisor where to go and what he could do to himself once he got there. "What the hell were you _doing _all night!"

"Why, nothing," Reno replied. "Unless you count Reeve's secretary," he added as an afterthought.

"You and your little fantasies about Lusty McBreasts on the 69th floor," she snorted, glaring into eyes that were still sparkling with mirth. "I'm serious, you dumbass."

Reno gave in with a sigh, too tired to keep the joke going. "One of your little friends called last night and gave us a case that had all of the upper floors running around like chocobos with their fucking heads cut off," he spat, raking a nicotine-stained hand through his hair. "Of course, all of this shit happens _exactly _as I've got one foot into the fucking elevator..."

Yuffie blinked. "A friend? What case? Who?"

A thump sounded as a stuffed manila folder landed on the desktop, uncomfortably close to the dozing Turk's head.

"See for yourself," Elena said levelly before Reno could even finish uttering the expletive.

Yuffie, however, was no longer listening. A slight frown had crossed her features as soon as she had caught the precise black lettering on the tab of the folder, and she lifted it now just to be sure.

**VALENTINE, VINCENT**

"Why would Vinnie come to _us_?" she murmured softly, oblivious to her friends' almost marital bickering behind her. She flipped the file open, her jaw dropping as she read the initial report.

"It's... pretty sick, isn't it?"

Yuffie turned to see Elena standing with her arms folded, with a certain sadness in her eyes. Reno was now sitting upright on the desk, almost looking grim. Yuffie, for a few moments, was only able to do a rather weak impression of a fish, before she finally got out:

"Who would _do _something like this to a kid!"

Elena was about to reply, but the biting voice of Reno cut her off.

"Oh come on Yuff, who's the only guy in history who's had those kinda resources _and_ was totally _batshit_?" Yuffie, however, had returned to the document, slowly sinking into Reno's leather-upholstered rolling chair.

"Blood work," she muttered suddenly. "Have we sent a guy over to get blood work yet?" Reno slid off of his deck and into his shoes, emitting a dry chuckle.

"That'd be nice," he said as he felt about his person for a cigarette that he knew neither woman would let him finish. "Valentine won't even tell us where the kid _is_, much less let anyone near her." He sighed as he placed the cigarette between his lips, only to have it instantly snatched away by Yuffie and crushed in her fist. "It's ridiculous," he muttered, and Elena got the distinct impression he wasn't just referring to the Valentine situation.

"If this child has been through half of the stuff this report suggests, I think it's perfectly obvious why anyone would be adverse to letting a syringe near her." Reno shook his head at the blonde, hauling Yuffie out of his chair by the wrist.

"Yeah yeah yeah. C'mon squirt, Rude should be ready with the chopper soon." Yuffie blinked.

"But you just said the kid-" The redhead sighed in aggravation, obviously completely exasperated.

"Me, you, an' Rude are gonna go meet Valentine at the Nibelheim lab; we're gonna run a search and go from there." Elena opened her mouth to protest; again, Reno cut her off. "Sorry rookie, but we don't need four blue suits running around, _especially _not one that'd just be knocking shit over." Elena went slightly red in the face. Flustered, she narrowed her eyes at her coworker.

"What am _I _supposed to do?" Reno Nevara's grin would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame.

"Paperwork, 'Laney. Paperwork."

-

The universe smoldered gently in the calm inferno of her eyes. She leaned her chin on bony knees, watching the sunrise burst through the seams of the horizon with an air of utter indifference. A gust of wind plastered white on white, making her nightshirt almost indistinguishable from the drained pale of her skin.

As fading stars were snuffed out entirely by the sheer crimson of it all, Elli suddenly remembered that, once, her favorite color had been red. She hated the color now; the very sight of it made her sick inside. White too, she reflected, pinching a fold of the cloth and pulling it away from her body as if it were secreting something vile. Her time with that man was faint in her mind, but by no means dull, blinding flashes of white and endless waterfalls of red an agonizing mixture, sloshing wildly in the vessel of her hollow memory. A tiny, copper-banded fist clenched in the white cloth, but her eyes became downcast. It was as if all she was now was red and white, ever since...

The small child stared at the coppery bangles that controlled her built-in weapons, her face reflecting in the grey stones like a ghost from the Otherside. She couldn't help but wonder what she had been like in the first place. She knew she must have changed: all she was now was a block of hatred, mixed with a hint of fear, in a blank void. She wondered how often she had laughed before, if she had any friends, how old she was, what her parents had been like, and if other children thought in the same precise manner she imagined she did.

She doubted it.

"It is beautiful, is it not?"

Her back went rigid as her breath caught in her throat. Then the presence which she had somehow missed before flooded around her, and she recognized it as the Guardian from the previous day

Her brain screamed at her that she should not have allowed herself to have been caught unawares, that it was unacceptable behavior, that...

"I guess," she gasped out, hugging herself. She felt Nanaki pace up to her side; artificial instincts whispered faintly in her ears, urging her to run the creature through. She scrunched her face up and gritted her teeth, pushing the thoughts away and silently calling for the protection of the benevolent entity within her.

The whispers faded, and her eyes opened slowly. Nanaki was sitting on his haunches next to her, courteously pretending to be enthralled with the canyon sunrise. "I'm not a monster... am I?"

He blinked, surprised by the nature and frankness of the question. He languidly turned his head to look at her; she almost looked like a child begging to know if there really _was _a Santa Claus, were it not that her large, wide eyes were a bloody red. Nanaki watched her for a moment as he pondered how to answer the very much loaded question; he swore he saw her bottom lip quiver, and then, he replied.

"Do you wish to be?"

Her eyes widened further. She had her tongue pressed against the backs of her teeth to utter _no _when she stopped. Nanaki saw her pupils swing down to her hands, and he suddenly smelt a physical wound there.

Elli remained silent.

"Elli?"

There was still no response. Nanaki was about to give up and return to the sunrise, when her gaze shifted, not meeting his eye, but focusing on a stripe of warpaint beneath it.

"I... have to kill somebody."

He stared straight at her, and she stared back, her eyes solid with determination, daring him to argue with her. His gaze was as ancient as the canyon behind her, however, and soon her eyes fell.

"I used to live someplace pretty," she whispered. "I don't remember where, but I know it was pretty, and I know I was happy. I loved people there. I..."

"And you wish to kill the man who took you away from it all?"

"No, I wanna kill the guy who murdered everyone I loved!" Her face hardened. She stood up, her hands shaking and making a strange sort of rattle. "I hate him! How couldn't I hate him! I-"

Suddenly, she twitched. The girl's eyes widened and swiveled to and fro, filled with confusion. Furrowing a ridge of fur above his eyes in concern, the Guardian stood and padded closer.

"Elli? Elli, is something wrong?" A heavy dripping sound; he did not have time to register anything else before the young girl teetered and fell. Nanaki was swift, blocking her descent with his own body.

It was only then he saw the blood, oozing from the metal bound around her palms.

-

One thing any person learned before working at the new Shinra, Inc. for too long was that there were documents, documents, and _documents_. The company had once been infamous for being the most vile and merciless of its kind on the Planet -kidnapping, murder, slowly sucking the souls of the dead out of the ethereal flow of the Planet's life, and plenty of other not particularly wholesome things on the side. Whereas, these days, the extent of the corporation's nefarious deeds generally stopped at the mass plague of paper-cuts it managed to inflict upon its workforce.

It was difficult to argue which was worse.

So, if you worked for Shinra, you were going to be some sort of a paper-pusher unless you worked for the Turks -oops, the "Investigation Department." Nobody really bought that they'd _completely _cleaned up their act, especially not the particularly spectacular body currently pushing the most prestigious of papers, the real _documents_ of the lot, the text that was heading to the desk of President Martin Reeve himself.

The sixty-ninth floor.

Numbers have a way of being ironic.

Ms. Lacey MacBrae, a ridiculously voluptuous thirty-two, had arrived this morning to find so much paper on her desk that, she decided with irritation, she was surprised it hadn't broken.She'd left about six last night, due to a particularly vicious stomach ache, and had arrived later than normal for the same reason. She still wasn't particularly feeling well, and, for a moment, Lacey got the distinct impression that this was not going to be one of her days.

However, she noticed that nearly all of these documents were in envelopes, and nearly all of these envelopes displayed a large, red CONFIDENTIAL stamp. Now thoroughly interested, Lacey slit open the first with a large, red nail, expertly pouring its contents into her waiting hand.

Her eyes scanned the detailed report, widening further and further as she read the horrors within.

And then, rather unexpectedly, her full lips curled into a large, red smile.

-

Author's Notes: Ahhahaaha, sorry that took so ridiculously long... plot troubles, and random inspiration. What? Yuffie in the Turks? Could this mean...! Oh yes boys and girls, Akai is a REFFIEND! Don't worry, they won't steal the story... yet :P Ack, I just realized that Vincent didn't appear in this chapter at all.. Oh well, he should be in pretty much every scene in the next D

Speaking of Reffies, check out my other FF7 fics. Un. Please?


	5. Spinning

**Crowsong**

**by the Red Nothing**

_'Welcome to my world,' she said_

_'Do you feel alive?' she said_

_'It's all a bad dream, spinning in your lonely head'..._

-3 Doors Down, "Down Poison"

**Chapter 5**

It was the sort of gloomy day when it felt as if the entire world should be paved with ancient grey cobblestones. The rain that fell dutifully from the late-morning sky had a dream of becoming the first autumn snow, but hesitated in its ambitions, instead filling Nibelheim with a miserable, freezing fog.

The raindrops, droning down upon the mansion roof far above his head, spoke in soft whispers, beckoning Vincent Valentine from his slumber. Suddenly, for the first time in his life, it struck him as odd that rain was naturally depressing to most people. It was nothing short of life, miraculously falling from the sky...

Half-awake musings were shaken out of him by the sounds of faint commotion coming from outside. He realized that he must have fallen asleep while pouring over the thousands of books in the laboratory's basement. The faint banging and yelling from above him, he surmised, was what had _really _jarred him from his sleep. Although louder than the raindrops, it was still rather faint, as it was coming from the surface, and even with his enhanced hearing he was surprised it had woken him. Grabbing his heavy black coat from a nearby chair, Vincent strode purposefully toward the staircase, fastening the large, dark buttons up to his throat as he moved.

Upon exiting the mansion into the pouring rain, Vincent discovered he probably would _not _have heard the ruckus coming from outside, except that, judging from the disgruntled people climbing out of large yellow vehicles, it had more than likely, at the time, involved construction equipment. He scanned the group of perhaps fifteen people. There were only two who were not obviously construction workers, familiar men in blue suits arguing animatedly with the forewoman from a few days ago. Well, technically, only one was doing the arguing: Rude simply watched as his redheaded companion aggravated the woman further and further, weighing the consequences of intervening behind dark glasses.

A faint twinge of disappointment sang within him as he noticed that the inseparable Shinra duo were without a certain companion; the young woman was almost like a daughter to him. He had read, a few years back, that she had joined the Investigation Agency; he had not been planning on her arriving with them, but as he hadn't seen her since he'd moved into Junon, it would have been a nice arranged coincidence.

He paused for a moment as a very particular smell hit him, followed by 80 pounds of a particular animal.

Several yards away, within the sanctuary of a bright yellow umbrella, Yuffie Kisaragi grinned impishly for the first time on that disgusting morning. There's something about _the _Vincent Valentine nearly getting knocked over by a stinky, saturated Midgar shepherd mix that can't help but bring a smile to one's face. Laughing, she waved, exclaiming a single word gleefully:

"Vinnie!"

Vincent wanted to get a good look at her, but it proved impossible through the curtains of rain and dog slobber. Yuffie wove her way through various construction workers, who, for the most part, ignored her, far more interested in the argument between the mysterious redhead and their boss.

"Dante," Vincent said sternly as the shinobi drew closer, "down." The mutt obediently lowered itself onto its haunches. He looked up to see a woman in an all-too-familiar blue suit, and frowned at the sight. Yuffie grinned at the fatherly disapproval before hugging him.

"Oh my Gawd," she gasped, taking a step back to inspect him, "you cut your hair!" His lips twitched into a slight smirk.

"Yes," he affirmed. "And as long as we are pointing out the obvious, you have grown yours out." She shook her head with a tiny grin at Vincent's quiet brand of humor, causing shoulder length hair to bounce. Vincent cast a glance at the dog still looking expectantly up at him before placing his hand atop its head. "Thank you for bringing Dante," he said quietly, fluffing the dog's ears. "I do not know how long I will be away from home..."

"It was no trouble," murmured a third voice. "Although... it was a strange request to tack on to an invoice to the Shinra Investigation Agency."

"Rude," Vincent greeted simply, now extending his hand from dog to man, much to the dissapointment of the former.

"Mister Valentine," the Turk replied, returning the handshake firmly. Even with his eyes masked as ever, Rude's face was a visage of solemnity. "Shall we begin?"

Vincent nodded, his expression darkening seriously. Reunions were indeed pleasant... But he had more pressing responsibilities to attend to.

"Yes, time is of the essence."

Yuffie rolled her eyes. Both Rude and Vincent could be entertaining people when they wanted to, but get them together and they were about as much fun as the Home Balsawood Channel. She'd noticed that some people just had weird reactions like that together. Barret and Nanaki had some reverse chemistry, for example. Nanaki had actually been known to play some awesome jokes at parties, but bring Barret in and he just started acting like a dictionary. She snorted. Actually, it was kind of that way with herself and--

"I'd _love _to get started," a snarky fourth voice sang, "but now that you ladies are done with all of your tete-a-tete shit, ya might be interested ta know we have a little _problem_." The trio turned to see a sopping wet Reno Nevara, scowling, one hand fisted in his scarlet hair and the other gesturing emphatically at a livid-looking woman at his side.

Rude betrayed a slight sigh. In the nine years he had been working with Reno, the younger male had never failed to _complicate _things. Reno's undeniable charisma allowed him to be a smoothtalker when he wanted to, but when the man was irritated he had roughly the same public relations skill as a guillotine. That, coupled with his almost complete lack of any tact whatsoever, often resulted in...

Well, uhm. This.

"_Problem_?" the forewoman repeated, very, _very_ evenly. It was painfully obvious that she was on the verge of screaming. "This _dumbass _comes here, waving around a search warrant he got from an _electrical company_, and expects me to pack up all of my men and just _curtsey _for him! And he calls _me _the _problem_!"

"It's _Shinra fuckin' Incorporated!_" Reno countered, pulling furiously at his hair.

"Yeah, well I've got news for ya, buddy!" The woman prodded Reno in the chest emphatically, and Rude, noting the familiar way in which her eyes blazed, wondered if she and Reno could possibly be distantly related. "That may be all well and good in Midgar, but here in Nibelheim that hasn't meant _shit _for _five years_!"

Reno stared in shock, and then seethed. He did _not _like being poked. "You wanna start somethin', you little bi--"

"_Reno!_"

He stiffened, feeling Yuffie's reproachful glare on his back. He absolutely _hated _it when she did that. And for reasons rooted in memories he wasn't about to divulge, it worked almost every time.

Reno forced himself to relax, breathing out all of his exasperation in a terse sigh. "Whatever," he muttered, mentally cursing the rain. Now would be the most effective time to nonchalantly light a cigarette, as everyone knew it was his official I-Don't-Give-A-Shit-Anymore Signal. "_You _guys deal with..." He waved his hand randomly in the general direction of the forewoman. "..._this._"

Rude sighed again. And he was _always _the one who dealt with Reno's _this_ses.

"Miss, I am R--"

"I see the suit," the woman spat, effectively cutting Rude off. "You're a Turk."

"Shinra Investigation Agency," muttered Yuffie, but no one was listening.

"You work for the Shinra," the woman pointed her index finger accusingly at Rude, then Reno, then Yuffie. "I don't care if you say you've changed. _Obviously_," her stare zeroed in on Reno, "you're still a bunch of tools. You know, Shinra killed my family, Shinra _crushed _my fuckin' city, but _Shinra_ is _not _going to make me lose my job!"

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air like the stench of rotting fish. Rude winced, noting Reno's pale, zoned-out expression from the corner of his eye. This was all unnecessary... He cleared his throat, preparing to state the obvious.

"That may be so," Rude said with disorienting calmness, "but _Shinra _also happens to _own _this building... It being the _Shinra Mansion._"

The forewoman opened her mouth, blushed furiously, then let her words die in a sputter. Reno couldn't help but think his friend was some kind of god, being able to _think _without sleep; Yuffie, in turn, thought _Reno _was incredibly _stupid _for not pointing out the obvious immediately, and Vincent, under any other circumstances, would have just wanted to go home and get away from these people.

He instead observed the forewoman, who was now salvaging her pride and not-quite-barking orders at her men to clear out. Vincent got the impression she did not need to shout at all; while they did not hold her in the same tell-tale begrudged respect as a superior, her workforce seemed to regard her as an equal and a friend. He noted them moving as quietly and considerately as possible, although they all seemed rather upset. None of them looked very well-off; perhaps this job _was _important to their livelihood.

"One week," said Vincent suddenly, causing heads to swivel.

He had the forewoman's attention. Gathering herself from an apparent defeat, she turned hollow eyes to Vincent.

"One week," Vincent repeated, to the stares of construction workers and Turks alike. "Give us one week, and you may proceed with the demolition."

There was a moment of silence as the forewoman and her workers appraised Vincent and the Turks. A black-skinned man eyed Vincent warily for several moments before turning his head to the forewoman.

"Should we trust him, Shannon?"

Shannon weighed her options. They needed this job, but this seemed too much like _charity_... She looked around her at her crew. They were all men, and yet they still treated her like they treated each other, like a friend. She knew the winter holidays were coming up, and, unlike her, many of them had families...

"Yeah," she said at last. "But only because he's not a suit."

Vincent let an ironic smirk cross his features as the crew moved aside for his entourage. His being one hell of "a suit" was the very reason they needed to gain entry. But Shannon didn't have to know that...

The doors were reluctant to cooperate, but after a bit of "convincing" from Reno they groaned open to reveal unwelcoming blackness. Yuffie shuddered as she stepped inside after him; she really, _really _hated this place. She didn't realize she was standing rooted to the spot until Rude had to gently shoulder her out of the way to pass by. She eeped and moved aside for Vincent, who had to coax Dante over the foyer and into the silent house. The dog sniffed the air, nervously, the scent of monsters still lingering in cracks between the ancient floorboards. Vincent lead the way in silence, and the Turks followed behind him in triangular formation.

"So what the hell was that all about, Valentine?" demanded Reno, eyeing the dog that was staring adoringly up at him warily. He didn't trust it; the thing had tried to hump his leg from Costa to Nibelheim.

"Are you not confident in your abilities?" Vincent replied mildly, ascending a staircase. He didn't know why he was verbally prodding Reno to get a reaction; he was tired, he was miserable, so he really needed some coffee or perhaps something more illegal, and what he got included a twenty-something-year-old trashtalker who appeared to be engaged in a fierce staring contest with his pet dog.

"Yeah, I'm a nervous _wreck _wondering if I'll live up to yer standards." It wasn't the explosion Vincent had expected, but it certainly was snappy. "But seeing as she can't do shit to this place _anyway _without Reeve's permission, we didn't exactly hafta compromise with her." Reno ran a hand through his hair, heaving an irritated sigh. "Thanks buddy. Didja ever think that now we'll hafta _-get the fuck off of my leg!_"

Having stopped in front of a wall for a reason he suspected would present itself in due course, Rude took the opportunity to admire the hippopotamus-like grace of his partner, flailing and swatting at the amorous canine and apparently just barely resisting the urge to kick it halfway across the room. Yuffie leaned her head against a bookcase with a tiny groan. Anyone who called _her _the immature one had obviously never seen Reno without sleep.

There was a sound of heavy machinery sliding against itself from closeby, and a draft of cold, musty air hit them. Vincent was standing where part of the wall had once been, now gone and revealing a spiraling walkway of half-rotten wooden planks.

"Watch your step," he said, and began his descent, the whines of each plank as Vincent put his weight upon it enough to make Yuffie visibly cringe.

"Scared, brat?" Reno grinned into her ear, suddenly right behind her. Yuffie glowered.

"My _God_, Reno, can you be serious for five freakin' minutes?" With a huff and a shove to the man's chest, she followed after her ex-teammate. Reno growled, turning his eyes to the shoddy mutt that Rude was restraining with a gentle grip on its collar.

"Maybe if Reeve didn't have us fuckin' _dogsitting,_" he muttered to himself, turning to follow Yuffie.

"It's really not so bad, in contrast with the usual."

Shifting his gaze from Dante to Rude, Reno noted that the human was wearing a calm expression -not that he wasn't usually calm, but he seemed almost... content. The two seemed rather natural together. With a smirk, he suddenly expanded the image before him, Rude now standing with Dante and a rather plump woman on a pristine lawn. Behind them was an idyllic cottage, surrounded by flowers and maybe twenty kids.

"Name the rotten one after me, buddy," he said as he clapped Rude on the shoulder and turned on his heel.

"..." At least Rude had always been predictable in his replies.

Focusing on the radiance of Yuffie's flashlight, Rude caught up with the others just as they reached the bottom of the secret stairway, despite the added burdens of Dante's weight and Reno's ambiguity.

"Mister Valentine," he called, causing the tall gentleman to stop. "My colleague does have a point. You've imposed a time limit on the investigation..."

"We can move the books to my hotel room," Vincent said shortly, and kept moving.

"Won't that, uh, tamper with the scene?" Yuffie whispered nervously, then squeaked as Vincent replied; the question had been intended for Reno's ears.

"You're searching through documents for evidence, not dusting for fingerprints," he said levelly. "And, I assure you, the laboratory has been 'tampered with' quite thoroughly in the last forty years." Although Valentine was speaking rather softly, there was a quality to his tone that did _not _invite further comment.

They reached the lab; it was even blacker than the rest of the mansion, save for the tiny area partially illuminated by the flickering lamp Vincent had been using to read by. A frown tugging at her lips, Yuffie swung the beam of the flashlight around the room experimentally, revealing bookshelves. And bookshelves. And more bookshelves, each shelf stuffed with so many books it _literally _looked as if it were about to explode. Rude sighed. Reno cursed.

"Holy crap, Vinnie," Yuffie gasped, "that's not gonna fit in any hotel room!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A day's journey from Nibelheim, a great russet creature stood on his hind legs, his forepaws supporting himself on the window's carved ledge. One of Nanaki's bejeweled ears twitched as it was struck by another raindrop. His lips thinned in a faint rendition of a canine smile as he gazed down into the clearing below. Even in the torrential downpour, the great Cosmo Candle burned brightly...

Aside from the sound of the rain and the occasional distant footfall, it was silent in the kitchen. However, Nanaki wasn't alone. Soundlessly his forepaws met the ground again as he turned to investigate what his small companion was up to.

Elli sat at a nondescript wooden chair at an even less extraordinary table, her felt shoes not quite reaching the ground. Nanaki had found a rather large assortment of clothing in the girl's size, and it was intriguing to see what the child had picked out for herself: a brownish vest that left her arms bare; a pair of blue pants made of some fabric not unlike silk, which flared outward from where they were held with a green sash at her nonexistent waist and ended just below the knee. The way they poofed gave her the appearance of possessing much more body mass than the poor wraith actually had; beyond a stretch of birch-white shin, little black Wutain shoes guarded her tiny feet; and finally, she had selected a bandana, which she had rolled up and tied like a circlet as a headband to hold back her irrepressible black bangs. Nanaki wondered where he had picked up the article; it had a camouflage design that suggested the old Shin-Ra military, but the coloring was ice blue, as if it had been used for missions in the Northern region. All in all, Elli's choice of fashion reminded one of a collage assembled with paste and old magazines by a small schoolchild, but then again, in a less horrific world, that was exactly what Elli was supposed to be. Or should have been, give or take a few decades...

Nanaki shook his head, his earrings and feathers tinkling as his braids swayed. The girl was pillowing her head flat on her arms, staring intently into a tall glass of chocolate milk. While Elli had become a bit more talkative over the past few days -at least around him-, Nanaki found that the girl rarely ate or drank a thing, and this worried him. However, she seemed positively enraptured by the lone beverage, completely ignoring a plateful of peanut-buttered toast nearby. Nanaki had just parted his muzzle to make an inquiry when, without lifting her head, Elli spoke.

"It looks so disgusting," she said quietly, then tacked on, "Like mud."

"You were drinking it yesterday," Nanaki replied with a patience that he did not have to force. His eye swiveled to watch as her stick-thin legs swayed to and fro.

"I know. It tastes good. But it looks.. like it should be poison." For a moment, her ruby eyes widened and darted toward Nanaki, and he started. It is often said that a person's eyes are the windows into her soul; for that instant, the soul that Nanaki saw through them was a completely different entity from the person he was talking to. "No..." Elli amended quietly, the moment gone. She tentatively took the full glass into both of her hands. "Uncle Mezzy says it's safe, so..."

"Uncle Mezzy?" Nanaki echoed curiously, inclining his head.

Instantly, Elli shrieked and toppled backward, her chair clattering loudly against the stone floor. A great voice was roaring between her ears, and she slammed her hands over them as if to trap it in there. "I didn't say anything about you!" she squeaked frantically. "Leave me alone!"

Throwing caution to keep his distance to the wind, Nanaki leapt across the room with the agility of a puma, landing on all four paws at Elli's side. "Elli!" he barked urgently, his single eye widening, "what's going on?" Nanaki, a person who was generally composed, was panicked; whatever was harming the girl, real or otherwise, did not appear to be physical. It seemed now, as before, that there was little he could do. "What is...? Is... 'Uncle Mezzy' doing this?"

Elli had curled into a semi-fetal, eyes tightly closed as she writhed on the floor. At first it appeared that she had not heard him, but her eyes squinted open slowly, rolling like those of a spooked chocobo this way and that, often trying to focus on her hands clutched to the sides of her head. "N..no..." she stammered. "Uncle Mezzy... k-keeps me..."

She let out a soft moan and her eyes closed again, this time not as tightly. The writhing was reduced to trembling, and that was fading. Nanaki could only watch with baited breath as Elli's breathing began to return to normal, her modified hands dropping to her sides again, leaving lines of red half-moons embedded in each cheekbone.

"..safe," she murmured. Lying face-up on the floor, she took a deep breath before attempting to sit up. Quietly, Nanaki padded around her, helping her sit up by gently nosing her back. Elli stiffened initially at the contact, but then relaxed.

"Th-thanks, Zow-Zow..."

_Do not call him that, Elli!_

"Zow-Zow?" Nanaki enquired. Elli rapidly shook her head.

"N-nothing. S-s-sorry.. I...I don't even know what that is," she said truthfully, her slightly damp ruby eyes wide. "...that one -the bad one- wasn't Uncle Mezzy. Uncle Mezzy wouldn't hurt me. That was.." She swallowed, and Nanaki's eye narrowed as he smelled the intense fear in her; he could even sense her skin going hot with it. "..._him._"

"'Him'," Nanaki echoed quietly. His hindquarters dropped to the floor, and his tail curled around them. Elli pulled her knees to her chest, and appeared to be staring at an invisible speck of air. The Deji frowned. Vincent had told him the girl's body reacted in similar ways to his own. This 'Uncle Mezzy' and whatever else -he would press her no further for now- -were they fragments of a small child's warped psyche? Or were the transformations their own entities, laying dormant in the girl's mind...?

He dismissed Elli to go play. She stood silently and walked out, eerily reminding Nanaki of a wind-up doll. Did Hojo possess that kind of technology, to infuse actual consciousnesses into a person? He had no doubt the man had been demented enough to do so, but was he _able_?

His muzzle parted in a silent gasp. Did Vincent himself suffer from such things? He had never told anyone, if so, but Nanaki's friend was never one for talking about his feelings...

He shook his head. His mind was running away with him just like a child's. "Patience," he murmured firmly as he paced out of the room. "I am Nanaki, Son of Seto, Guardian of Cosmo Canyon. I am an adult. I must protect all who seek refuge in my city's walls..." He was halfway to the observatory when he stopped, and his ears drooped.

"Father," he whispered, "I wish you were here to guide me..."

------------

Vincent, as it were, was having tea in the Nibelheim Residence of Tifa Lockheart. Thinking fast and using her considerable address book, Yuffie Kisaragi had contacted Tifa, and the Turks were now in the process of loading everything in the basement into boxes, carrying them to Tifa's home, and sifting through them. Tifa had given her blessings, of course; really she had been thrilled to see them -_two _of them anyway- and had offered to help in any way she could.

_Typical_, thought Vincent as he watched the brunette chatter pleasantly, not really hearing her words, but appreciating her joyful tone all the same. She looked well. Of course, appearances could be deceiving. She had decided she might in fact be quite lonely. Little clues, from the way she had embraced himself and Yuffie when they had come in the door, to the way she kept insisting they all must come and visit, to the way she would not let him use her home unless he agreed to sit down ad talk with her. To "catch up." Well, it had been nearly four years. Even the way she constantly kept a hand on his ecstatic dog suggested that Tifa longed for companionship. Vincent frowned.

"...why did you name such a sweet puppy _Dante_, anyway?" Tifa chided, ruffling the animal's ears. "Didn't he write a book about Hell?"

Then again, perhaps pleasant conversation with someone as compassionate as Tifa was what he needed. If only briefly; there was work to be done.

"Yes," Vincent replied, taking a sip of his tea with his left hand; it was a bizarre sight to see the golden instrument of death delicately hold a teacup between two talons. "But he also wrote a book about Heaven." He set the cup down. "Most people forget that," he said dryly.

Tifa shook her head with a smile. "I always got the feeling you were smarter than the rest of us." She chuckled. "More educated, I mean."

_She depended on him too much_, Vincent found himself thinking suddenly. He blinked in surprise and shook his head at the thought; his confused expression caused Tifa to laugh, mistaking it for shyness at the bit of praise.

"But anyway," she lowered her voice. The smile vanished, and the expression became serious. The same face she'd worn when she'd learned _why _Vincent had arrived at her house with the Turks. _So much for pleasantries. _"Have you found any leads at all?"

"Not yet," Vincent replied lowly. Which wasn't entirely true, but his chest twisted at the small details he _had _found. Those were more.. personal. 

"Leads!" Yuffie gasped, her head suddenly appearing in the doorway. The excitement in her voice caused Vincent to sit up at attention, even before the loud bang of the door crashing against the sitting room wall sounded. She'd found something. "I'll say we got leads, so get your zombie ass over here, Vinnie!" The telephone rang just as Vincent exited through the front door, but he paid it no heed.

He was sprinting, but it didn't seem like it. When Vincent moved, Yuffie noticed, he always appeared to just glide through the air. He shoved the gate of the Shinra Mansion open, and the air blasted around him as he spiraled down the hidden staircase. When he flung the door to the laboratory open, he was face to face with Reno, Rude, and a small, brown jacket that Reno was holding up over his chest with a flat expression.

Again came the twist in Vincent's chest. Child's-size. "We found a box of clothes," Reno said, sounding lazy as usual. But a Mako eye gleamed sharply as he tapped a stitching above the miniature bomber jacket. "Kids' clothes."

But Vincent wasn't listening. He was reading the single word above the breast pocket. A name tag.

**DEMEARUS**

Vincent remembered the Demearuses.


End file.
